Dog Day Afternoon
by Strawwolf
Summary: Clarke and Bellamy have gotten separated from the group. Unfortunately they aren't in the best of moods. The heat is oppressive and each blames the other for getting lost. What will Clarke do when Bellamy disappears without a trace? Will she find him? Will they ever meet back up with the group?
1. Chapter 1

"Which way did they go?"

Clarke leans against the nearest tree, wiping sweat from the back of her neck as she stares out at the numerous trails in front of them that peter off into the forest. None look particularly well-trod or display any evidence of human usage. She sighs in frustration, closing her eyes against the slowly growing headache beating against her forehead.

"How should I know Clarke? We weren't supposed to be gone this long." Bellamy clenches his jaw, biting back more words before they fly out of his mouth. The tone and implication are clear though.

She turns in confusion. "Wait, are you blaming me for this? You were supposed to remember which trail they took."

Bellamy's brow shot up, incredulous at her accusation. "What the hell are you talking about? **You're** the one who insisted on leaving the group to look for 'a few plants'. You said it would save us a trip. Instead we were walking through thorns for **three hours.** If this is anyone's fault, it's yours."

Folding her arms across her chest she counters. "You know how badly we need those supplies. And **you** were supposed to keep an eye on how far away we were getting. Now we have no idea which way they went."

She gestures in front of them at the deer paths not much wider than the average boot. Thick underbrush obscures the view in every direction. Deadfall, thickets and fast-growing seedlings crowd around them like a huddled mass, claustrophobic and cluttered. It would have been a pleasant walk if not for where they were. Calling out to try and locate their friends wasn't a good idea, not knowing who else might be in the area. After all they are in foreign territory.

Bellamy frowns and steps closer, looking down his nose at her. "No, I was supposed to be keeping track of you and make sure we didn't run into any Grounders. Now we're not just lost we're alone and we have no idea how long it's going to take to find them." He stalks past her, gun held comfortably in his hands.

Clarke resists the urge to roll her eyes and simply falls into line behind him. Pulling on the straps of her pack, she stumbles on the path under the weight of her newly acquired medicine cabinet courtesy of the forest. Not that she'd admit she picked too much or that her back was sore or that she might have gotten them lost. Frowning she tries to roll her shoulders, feeling the sweat and grime from the day coating her skin with a thin film.

"If you're so upset maybe you shouldn't have come with me." She talks to his back, angry and tired. He pauses and she sees his shoulders tense before he whips around.

"And let you go off all by yourself? You know that never ends well Clarke." He glares at her as if in accusation and she hears the anger edging into his voice.

"I would have been fine. Like you said I was just looking for 'a few plants'; plants that are probably going to end up saving your life later."

She knows she's picking a fight, goading him into arguing but he knows how important this is. The group has been running on common sense and good weather since they left, scraping the bottom of the barrel every time someone doesn't look where they were going. With their luck it's only a matter of time before someone falls down a hill or eats something poisonous. Without her little foray it's likely someone will have to suffer before they reached the summer grounds.

"And then you would have been out here by yourself." His knuckles are white against the gun and he's practically shouting.

"You would have found me," she asserts quite matter-of-factly.

He starts at the statement, eyes widening as he embraces the trust implied in her words. Clarke Griffin is many things, a pain in his ass, a healer, a reluctant leader and a constant surprise. He isn't their best tracker but she's right. He'll be damned before he leaves Clarke alone in the forest, even if it means tramping around for hours because she's decided to foolishly leave the trail. As much as he hates to admit it sometimes, he can't do this without her. More importantly he doesn't want to. It's hard enough just trying to corral their people and keep them safe but now they have the Arkers and Lincoln's people to worry about. His opinions though are entirely conditional upon Clarke not being a complete moron when it comes to safety.

She's been told half a dozen times by as many people that everyone has to travel in groups of at least two when they leave camp for any reason. Of course Clarke has access to all the information about shift assignments and roster duties so she knows how thinly spread everyone is. This of course leads to her taking care of chores on her own, slipping out past the guards who Bellamy will inevitably yell at for failing their most basic task, guarding the perimeter.

Clarke would be found on her hands and knees digging at some plant or knee deep in water with algae or plastered to a tree collecting bugs, all for her various pastes and ointments, all to keep them safe. Later Bellamy would argue with her for leaving she'd insist she she's a good shot with her gun and they couldn't spare the people to keep an eye out while she foraged.

But he knew it wasn't just to keep the work crews on schedule or so everyone could get a decent night's sleep. He could see how she gazed out past the gates with a haunted look on her face when she thought no one was looking. How on occasion her hands shake when she's trying to concentrate. How she came back with more scars and fewer smiles after leaving when everything with Mountain Weather had gone to hell. But she never mentions it and he never asks, an unspoken arrangement that the past was best left where it was, behind them.

He quickly glances over at her as she wipes away the sweat from her forehead. The circles under her eyes and the greasy hair betray her true state. Tired and unkempt she's quicker to grimace than grin and he knows she's been trying hard to hide it. But it's _her_ and she has this seemingly obsessive need to help and save and heal and he can't be the only who's noticed that those aspects of her personality have become somewhat emphasized as of late. And that spark, that bright optimistic attitude has vanished, leaving behind just the logical and bitter. Everything that makes her Clarke has been muted and twisted into somebody that's hard to recognize. He knows it's killing her mother and it's hell on him pretending everything's fine. He can't even imagine how she's feeling but before he can contemplate further, she glances over and catches him staring. He moves to stare out at the trees, hands slick against his gun.

"What?" She glares.

He shrugs. "Nothing. Just considering what you said."

She raises a brow as if she doesn't quite believe he's conceding. "Well you would."

He frowns, eyes narrowing as he qualifies her statement. " **If** I was able to find you."

Clarke stares for a moment, her mouth a thin line before she pushes past him. It's hot out and her feet hurt and she's sweating everywhere and the more he talks the worse her headache gets. "Let's just see if we can find which trail they took."

Bellamy looks skyward for a moment, closing his eyes as if in malediction. He rubs a hand over his face and sighs. "Clarke the **entire** point of Lincoln's training was so we won't leave a trail." He's staring at her back but he can tell she's making a face. One he sees more often now.

"I know," her words are clipped, her tone annoyed. "That doesn't mean they won't have slipped up. Besides, how else are we going to find them?"

"Maybe you should have thought of that before," he mutters. He really doesn't want to keep circling around this and he definitely doesn't want to have this conversation. Not right now and not with Clarke. He just wants to find the group, forget the last couple of aggravating hours and move on. Unfortunately he isn't quiet enough.

Clarke turns and strides over to him, her boots clumping on the hard earth. She stares him in the eye, practically spitting as she speaks. "You didn't have to come with me Bellamy! No one made you, you **chose** to," she pokes him hard in the chest. "We needed supplies, you **knew** that. So I went and got them. I'm sorry things didn't go perfectly but you can't always expect things to work out the way you want them to." Any other meaning behind her words is left unspoken as they stare at one another, angry and unwilling to back down.

He resists rubbing at the sore spot on his chest and pauses before speaking because technically this is Clarke's fault but she's right. He went along with her, even though he didn't like the idea of leaving the group.

"Yeah well, I didn't think we'd be gone for three hours **.** "

Clarke throws up her hands. "Well it's too late to do anything about it now isn't it!"

Bellamy looks at her face in alarm. That crease on her brow is back, the one that usually signals an epic argument he has no chance at winning. So instead he just wipes his brow and decides to be the bigger person because the longer they stand and argue, the later it gets and the further behind they fall.

He sighs. How did this get turned around on him? "Fine, you're right. Let's just go. Maybe we'll catch up to them by nightfall." He tries to sell the last bit but the truth is he doesn't have much confidence in finding them. At least not before sunset, meaning they'll be lost and alone in Grounder territory.

Clarke crosses her arms at his sudden about face and narrows her eyes. "And what if they 'left the trail' too Bellamy? What then?"

He realizes she isn't just going to let this go. "Then they'll send someone back for us. They aren't just going to leave us out here. Look Clarke-"

"And how are they going to find us if they don't know where to look? We are lost aren't we? I mean that's what you said. And we can't afford to waste time dicking around in the forest gathering plants," she says, mimicking him.

"Look I know you're angry at me but we don't really have time to argue about this. You can yell at me when we meet up with the group."

"Don't you mean **if**?"

At this point he's convinced that she's goading him on purpose. He looks at her, frowning and angry and just shakes his head. He turns to walk down the nearest path, hoping he's at least heading in the right direction.

"Bellamy!"

He ignores her, hoping she's at least going to follow him. He's learned to trust Clarke in the past, believing that her judgement is sound and farseeing. That she has his best interests at heart, even when he doesn't agree with her. Now he has to hope she trusts him enough to do the same.

As he winds his way along the path he tries to distract himself with his surroundings, not daring to look back for fear of ruining it all. Like Eurydice and Orpheus he's worried she'll disappear into the forest if he confronts her again. She has enough reason to go off on her own: stubbornness, anger, independence, the belief that he's taking them in the wrong direction.

The forest has a fresh earthy smell, a scent he's not sure he'll ever get used to. It's…an absence of scent and sound if he's being honest. The air doesn't have that slight recycled tang to it and there's no constant whir of purifying filters. No metallic echo of feet or whush of doors opening and closing. No pressurising hiss and clomp, no scent of oil and grease and cleaning fluid. And every so often he hears a bird in the distance or a rustle in the bushes and he's reminded that they aren't alone. That unlike the emptiness of space, they're surrounded by life down here. It was unnerving at first, especially after discovering other people have survived on the ground, but it's slowly growing into a comfort. It's preferable to those long silences he endured after Octavia was taken and his mother floated. That's why he can't help but grimly smile when he hears the familiar tromp of Clarke's boots behind him.

They spend the next few hours not speaking, simply walking through the forest. Bellamy, too focused on finding the group, looks for traces of human activity in the form of footprints, broken branches and trampled underbrush. Clarke spends it stewing, angry at Bellamy for thinking her side trip was unnecessary and dangerous. Both hate the insects surrounding them, occasionally swatting at the ones that stray too close. Both are dripping with sweat, fighting the urge to empty their canteens and gulp down the last of their water.

They pass by giant upended boulders with straight sides covered in moss. Occasionally they'll walk by large pieces of twisted metal, rusted beyond recognition. And then there are the animals. Some chitter and squawk, as if yelling at a trespasser; others just stare in fear before bounding or scuttling away. More than once they spot the signs of radiation on a creature.

The old world surrounds them, hidden just under the soil, slowly being reclaimed by nature, pulled down into what could easily be termed an 'underworld' of sorts, a radiation-soaked landscape unlikely to emerge from said influence for tens of thousands of years.

Trying to break the silence and make peace, Bellamy pinches a bright red berry off a bush and turns, holding it out to Clarke with a raised brow as if to ask whether it's alright to eat. She shrugs.

"If you want to risk diarrhea, vomiting and or death be my guest." She can't be certain but in her experience on the ground it's always better to err on the side of caution just in case. Her experience with those nuts had taught her that lesson the hard way.

He grimaces and chucks it into the bushes. So much for trying. She pushes past him to take the lead, nearly backing him into a ditch. He's about to shout at her when he realizes she's gone ahead, disappearing around a bend in the trail. Worried she's about to take off he sprints to catch up and nearly runs into her. In fact he has to move to the right to keep from plowing into her back and knocking her over. Unfortunately he steps on a loose stone and falls on his ass. Grimacing in pain he raises his gun at whatever possible threat caused her to halt in the middle of the trail.

But there's no danger, at least none that he can see. They're at the edge of a clearing filled with a lake. Large trees surround them, growing right next to the water's edge, branches bowing down, dipping below the surface. Rotting logs and sea grass pepper the shoreline. A large jagged rock formation sits off to the left, cutting into water. It's quiet and likely deep as the bottom isn't visible.

Bellamy lowers his gun and stands, wincing as he straightens up. He's definitely going to have a bruise. One look at Clarke tells him they won't be leaving for a while. She stares longingly at the water, licking her chapped lips. Bellamy catches himself staring at her mouth before glancing away.

He can't blame her. It's hot enough out to make him nostalgic for the temperature controls of the Ark, that constant lukewarm draft blowing out of the vents. Of course, after curfew they turned the heat down, discouraging those out after hours, making necessary the various blankets and cast-offs that everyone valued so highly. It had been worse for Octavia. Spending most of her days under the floor she used them both for warmth and cushioning. Bellamy didn't care that he'd resorted to the black market to get her a proper pair of socks or that he'd ripped the lining out of his cadet's uniform for pillow stuffing. When he shivered on patrol it just reminded him of why he'd done it. She was his responsibility.

Clarke's mouth fights a smile and she walks up to the lake, crouching as she splashes a handful of water on her face. Bellamy sees a stripe of sweat trailing down the back of her shirt and watches the fabric ride up, exposing the small of her back. It doesn't bother him until she turns around and he sees that the water's dripped down her front, causing her shirt to stick to her skin, highlighting the curves of her breasts. He clears his throat and kicks at the stone he tripped over before he walks over to copy her gesture, splashing his neck to try and cool off. It's a hollow gesture though as it's still unbearably hot out and likely to stay so even after they get back to the group. The thought of tramping through the woods dripping with sweat for an undetermined amount of time is seriously unappealing.

 _Screw this._

He slings off his gun, setting it down behind a log. Then he bends down and starts unlacing his boots. He doesn't even have to look to know Clarke's frowning at him.

"Are you honestly going swimming right now?" Anger and annoyance clear in her voice.

He cranes his neck to look up at her and tries to fight a grin. "Yeah. You coming in or what?"

Clarke scans the water's edge, looking for possible threats. "We're supposed to be looking for the group Bellamy. Not wasting time jumping into lakes."

"Well tell you what. You can stand there and sweat your ass off or you can jump in with me and cool off. Your choice." He ignores the frustrated look on her face. He'll be damned if he's going to be pissed off at her **and** uncomfortable for the rest of the trip.

"Someone needs to keep watch." He sees the fight going on behind her eyes. The temptation is there .

He rolls his eyes. "Oh come on."

"What happened to watching out for Grounders!" She puts a hand on her hip calling him out for what he is, a hypocrite.

"I'm too hot to care anymore." He reaches up and pulls off his shirt, balling the fabric as he starts to brush it down his torso, wiping off the sweat.

Clarke watches him, eyes drifting across his chest. He can't help but smirk when he catches her.

"You okay Clarke?"

"Fine," she says her voice a little shaky.

Watching her watch him he unties his jacket from his waist and slowly starts to unzip his pants. He glances up at her, brow raised. She crosses her arms, unintimidated as he shucks them off and throws them to the side. It's only when he tucks his thumbs into his boxers and tugs them down that she whips around, turning her back to him. He chuckles. Making her uncomfortable is surprisingly entertaining. Completely nude now he waits for her to turn around but she stays where she is, that wet stripe of sweat on her back mocking him.

"I'm going to check the area, see if I can find any footprints. You better be out when I get back," she calls over her shoulder and ducks into the trees.

"Have it your way then. Sweat to death," he yells after her but is met with silence.

 _Her loss._

He shrugs and bundles up his clothes, stuffing them in the nearest rotting log. Thinking better of it he takes his gun and stashes it too. There's no sense in taking chances. Just in case she's right and there **are** Grounders around he doesn't want them to take off with his things. Then Clarke really would be able to tell him off.

He stares out at the lake, his hungry eyes drinking in every inch of water. Just a quick dip and he'll be done and out in five he promises himself. Grinning like a fool he runs in and dives under. The feeling is a blissful one. While not as cold as he wanted, it washes away that slick film of sweat, leaving him breathless as he surfaces smiling from ear to ear. Learning to swim had been a painful and somewhat dangerous experience with flailing limbs and gasped curses but it had been worth it.

Buoyant and happy, he kicks his legs turning over on his back to stare up at the sky. All is quiet. He can't even hear Clarke tromping through the brush. He watches clouds unfurl and coalesce as he floats, drifting across the surface, letting every worry and concern fall away if only for a moment.

He's only pulled out of his peaceful contemplated when the shadow of a rock obscures his view. He reaches his hand up and holds onto the side to keep from drifting away. The surface is jagged with natural handholds leading up to the top. Scraggly clumps of grass bravely huddle in the cracks and crevices, clinging to the vertical wall. He considers climbing to the top just to see if he can. Looking down for footholds he sees what looks like an underwater cave. Recessed into the rock it's only feet below the surface and for a moment Bellamy swears he sees a light coming from inside. He turns to look at the sun just in case it's a trick of the light but the angle is all wrong. Curiosity pulls him forward until he's treading water just above it.

"Hey Clarke!"

He yells out, hoping she's still in the vicinity. He wouldn't mind her tagging along. After all the last time they went exploring they hit pay dirt and if she comes for a swim maybe her attitude will improve. There's no answer. He wonders how far off she's strayed before his thoughts return to his new discovery.

It's been an age since he's had something just to himself that didn't involve food or shelter or keeping a group of rambunctious teenagers alive. Grinning he gulps down a big breath of air before diving beneath the water to explore. Ripples are left in his wake as his toes disappear into the depths.

He doesn't resurface.


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke tromps through the brush, hands tight on her gun, following what looks like a deer path into the undergrowth. She doesn't care how much noise she's making and barely pays attention to where she's going. Why does he have to be so…frustrating?

How are they supposed to find the trail, let alone catch up to everyone if he delays them with a swim? She knows it's hot out, that she's tired and that the lake looked more than inviting. It would have been easy to follow Bellamy into the water. But that niggling sense of worry over reaching the Summer Grounds before the West River reached capacity held her back.

Besides, if they were both swimming who was going to keep watch? They might be within Trikru territory but they were closer to the border and with current tensions she didn't trust the other clans not to test boundaries.

Her pack's straps dig into her shoulder as she tries to scramble up an incline only to fall on her ass. Huffing she leans back against her overstuffed pack, sweat trailing down her neck and underneath her shirt. For a moment it's too hot to breath. She wipes her hands on her pants, sweat making her gun grip slick.

She slowly stands, the pain in her back like a ripple spreading to every muscle. Her knees protest as she clenches her jaw. The one benefit of tonight will be taking off her pack and collapsing into whatever unconsciousness she can achieve. The anxiety about arriving before River rise, worry over losing the group and keeping an eye out for Azgeda had frayed her nerves. She was trying not to jump at every sound as they picked their way through the forest but lack of sleep was pressing up against the edge of her sanity. Her jaw cracks a yawn as she pushes on further into the woods.

Finally focused back on her initial reason for leaving the lake, she follows the twisting trail looking for recent tracks. But it ends abruptly at a jagged rock face covered in lichen. She squints up at the top and because she values her own life, determines it's too high to climb. Instead she strikes off into the bush. Her boots tromp over detritus and under low-hanging branches. As she brushes past a bush peppered with thorns she ends up entangled, her hair snarled, her skin punctured.

As she spits out a plethora of swears, a startled flock of birds burst from a tree, winging away from her. She tries to pull herself free and ignores the pain as she tries to step away from the bush. Her teeth clench she tries to muscle through the fire on her scalp but finds herself well and truly stuck. Unable to drop her pack she shucks her gun instead and reaches up to feel around at the branch her hair is stuck on. Above her head she can't quite see what she's doing and stabs herself several times on the bush. The branch itself is too thick to break, leaving her to slowly break off each individual thorn. This prompts more blood and swearing but she uses the time and each thorn to name every bone in the body. It keeps her focused and her mind off the pain.

Her brow beads with sweat as she shifts her pack, her clothing near soaked through as she finally frees her hair. Under her breath she growls, grabs her gun and stalks off, this time taking more care to avoid thorn bushes. Now somewhat lost, she squints up at the canopy, unable to orient herself thanks to the foliage obscuring the sun. It had been the same ever since walking into the valley bottom three days ago.

As she scans the forest floor she spots a patch of fleawort and stops dead. For a long moment she stares at the bright yellow flowers before dumping off her pack. Bellamy would kill her if he knew what she was doing. Plants were the entire reason they'd fallen behind and lost the group.

"But he's not here and he's never going to find out."

She smirks and pulls out her knife. The fresh smell of green wafts over her as does a bright smile with every stem cut. Unintentionally she starts humming, long and low. It's not a song she knows, just a collection of random notes to keep her company while she tries to overstuff her pack. Again.

A green stain on the hands is the only evidence of her crime. The knife wipes clean on her pants and without a soul around there's no one to argue. The only problem is going to be hefting the thing back onto her shoulders. Fortunately there's a tree handy. She braces the pack against the trunk, pulls on the straps and staggers off as she readjusts to the weight.

Some minutes later she stumbles down a hill. On the bright side she's found another trail but it's tempered by the fact that she's now ankle deep in mud. With every step she sinks several inches into a drying morass of muck that paints her pant cuffs brown. The entire area has turned marshy with the smell of hot earth and decaying plant life. While it slows her down it also gives her hope for finding tracks. The tedium is often interrupted by birdsong and rustling leaves, just enough noise to make her jumpy.

As she squelches down the trail she keeps an eye out for any sign of the group. There! She plants her gun and slowly kneels. Calloused fingers brush the edge of the track. It hasn't softened with time, meaning whomever passed by did so recently. And while she can't be sure whose it is, she can narrow it down. Her eyes flit from tree to tree, looking for the mark they agreed on in case of separation. When she can't find it, worry creeps closer with the thought that the tracks belong to someone else. If Azgeda is here she won't stand much of a chance by herself.

Without any other sign she heads back to where the tracks came from, eager to either find a mark or head back to the lake. Her balance wobbles with every step, mud sucking at her heels. At one point she's forced to flail and drops her gun in the mud. The splatter kicks up into her face.

"Shit."

She snaps her head back, nearly falling as she blinks in pain, unable to see through the mud in her eyes. A quick wipe to the face only smears everything as she tears up, eyes stinging as she bends down to feel around for her gun. Snugly embedded in the trail, she pulls it free and cleans it off as best she can. Her sleeve serves as a towel as she drags it over her eyes before continuing.

There's no joy for several minutes but then she sees it. Crudely scratched onto a trunk is a "100", courtesy of Jasper via Octavia, an in joke that no other Grounder is likely to know or use. She can't help but smile in relief. They **had** passed this way after all! Now she only needs to get back to the lake, grab Bellamy and hope they can catch up before dark. If she's learned anything from Lincoln it's that safety in numbers grows in importance the further you are from home.

But which way was the lake? Clarke follows her own prints back to the edge of the trail, hands slipping on her muddy gun as she climbs back into the bush. Fortunately her messy foray through the woods left a trail of destruction. It takes some time though as her path is more meandering than direct. It's an agonizing walk, stuck following her own tracks when all she wants is to race back so they can leave.

After what feels like an eternity she bursts from the treeline, overheated, sweaty and covered in mud. Right now she just wants to catch up with the group and get out of this damn forest. She looks up and down the shoreline and scans the lake but Bellamy is nowhere in sight.

So instead she shucks her pack and walks to the water's edge. She stares at the far shore, willing him to appear. When he doesn't she crouches to dip her hands in the water. It's cold enough to sting as she washes the mud free, a cloud around her fingers. Next her face. The mess in her hair and on her clothes will have to stay.

There's no doubt Bellamy took a dip. She can even see his tracks leading up to the water. But where could he have gone? Is he napping somewhere in the shade? It seems more likely as his clothes and gun gone but without any tracks to indicate where she's stuck looking for him.

"Fuck."

Would he have left without her? He was worried enough when it was just the two of them stuck in the woods and now she's to believe he's left her all alone? No; if he was willing to follow her through the bush for three hours no **way** would he leave after she spent half an hour tromping around looking for a trail. Maybe he'd left to go look for her. She sighed and made a face. Now they were both lost AND separated.

Since he hasn't found her yet it seems best to wait. So she fights the urge to look for him. Instead she slumps onto a nearby log and stretches, trying to ignore the pinch in her back as she rolls her shoulders. Slowly she picks away at her bootlaces, working at a knot until she can yank them off along with her socks. Her toes finally free, she steps into the water and wiggles them. It's a welcome balm against the ache of the day.

Torn with indecision she weighs her options. Does she search for the group and bring someone back to fetch him or does she wait for him to inevitably come back, leaving the group to move further and further away? Jaha's migration plan really was the shits, with the proof evident here and now as she tries to decide on the least bad option. The choice is obvious really, she's not going to abandon Bellamy and leave him to wonder where she went. But how to find him?

She wades up and down the shore but as the light starts to fade into late afternoon she gets antsy. Surely if she just walks the shoreline she'll be able to spot him. Drying her feet with her socks, she jams them back into her boots and grabs the nearest stick she can find. A quick message scratched out on the hard sand should be enough if he shows up. And as her pack will only hinder any search she leaves it beside the log, trusting that in her absence it won't disappear.

"Unlike some people," she mutters.

With a deep sigh she starts to walk, following the shore as best she can, hopping over fallen logs and skirting small pools of water. She scans the woods and the opposite shore, looking for traces of him. The gloom of dusk gathers around her as tall trees stand like pillars of night against the sun.

In the distance she spots a dark mass on the beach. Unmoving and silent it could easily be harmless but in her experience it could also be a wild animal or Grounder trap. Nervous, she shoulders her gun and slowly creeps towards it. She eyes the steady rise and fall of its chest. Whatever it is, it's alive and soaking wet.

Without warning the creature lurches to its feet and turns, catching her eye. It jumps towards her, barking. Its teeth white and sharp as she stumbles back, falling on her ass in the sand. Her brain recognizes the animal as a dog and she tries to remain calm but her body won't obey as it barrels towards her. Muscle memory overrides fears as she raises her gun and pulls the trigger.

.oOo.

The cold grit of the shore is what he feels first as he wakes. Face down on the sand Bellamy blinks, his head spinning as if he were tumbling end over end all the while lying still. The world is sideways as he tries to keep from vomiting, his head feeling twice its normal size. He sits up and tries to turn everything the right way up again. It's much akin to his first hangover only so much worse. Back then he'd downed the swill David had snuck into the promotion party, wheezing at the kick as it went down.

Now he's convinced his eyeballs are going to burst and his brains are going to leak out his ears. Pushing himself to his feet he stumbles, legs wobbly as he tries to ignore the brackish taste in his mouth. As he turns he sees Clarke walking towards him. He stumbles, ears ringing as he moves to meet her.

"Clarke! You were right about the lake. Don't go swimming. It'll give you a hell of a headache."

But she doesn't respond. In fact her face is pale, her eyes wide. Why is her gun raised; why does she look so-


End file.
